Ice Storm (19 page)

I squinted as a tiny sliver of light caught my eye. It appeared to originate from the rooftop, probably from a solar panel.

My jaw slowly unhinged as the carnage came into view. A large hole had torn through one side of the building. Broken solar panels littered the ground. The wind turbines had been heavily damaged. Several circular fans hung limply from their tripods. Other turbines had been ripped clean out of the ice.

"I guess this explains the blackout." Jenner swallowed thickly. "What do you think caused it?"

I nodded at the gaping hole. "Only one way to find out."

He stared uneasily at the flames. "You sure it's safe?"

"No." I armed myself with my flashlight and machete. As I crept toward the building, smoke curled into my face. It got into my nose, my mouth, and my lungs. My eyes watered. My throat felt parched.

I buried my face in the crook of my arm and glanced inside the hole. I saw sparks of electricity. Several flames burned brightly. However, they seemed on the verge of dying out.

I climbed through the hole and switched on my flashlight. Various posters hung on the walls. Some of them portrayed the dangers of global warming to Antarctica. Others touted the benefits of the power plant, specifically its complete dependence on renewable energy.

The floor consisted of dark wood. Various machines and monitors sat on top of it. They were interspersed with wood paneling and other embellishments. Despite the destruction, it was the most stylish power plant I'd ever seen. I assumed Baxter's superiors had hired an interior designer to spruce up the place, probably so they could show it off to politicians and other dignitaries.

I swept my gaze across the room, searching for Ayers. The heart of the station was a mess. Several of the machines had been knocked over. Virtually all of the monitors had been cracked open. Bundles of thick cables lay in smoldering piles of melted rubber.

I waved my flashlight, driving smoke away from my face. In the middle of the room, I noticed something odd. The explosion had damaged a few floorboards. Beneath them, I saw a dark void. I figured it was a crawl space to hide more cables. But I wanted to be sure.

My boot slammed into the floorboards. They cracked and crumbled. My leg shot into the void and I lost my balance.

Dust flew into my eyes and mouth. Coughing violently, I tried to shift my leg. But it was jammed into the small hole. I coughed harder. Waving my flashlight, I tried to clear the air. But I only succeeded in stirring up more dust.

My eyes itched and burned. I tried to breathe, but another coughing fit stopped me cold. Jenner appeared at my side. Quickly, he pried up a floorboard. Then he yanked my leg. Jagged pieces of wood tore through my snow pants and long underwear, scraping my skin. It hurt like hell.

My leg popped free. Still coughing, I shuffled backward. Then I rubbed my eyes and coughed a few more times.

"You okay?" Jenner asked.

"Never better," I managed between wheezes.

He eyed the void from a safe distance. "What's down there?"

"Let's find out."

I made my way back to the void and pointed my beam into it. A large hunk of twisted green metal lay on a lower platform. Cords and cables, now melted to the floor, branched away from the metal and snaked in all directions.

Jenner hacked a couple of times. "What is that?"

"It's a diesel generator." I snorted in disgust. "So much for Kirby being a zero emissions base."

Chapter 49

Anxiously, I thrust my hands into the snow bank. My gloves touched nothing but powder. I tried to frown but my face was too cold to move.

I stood up again. Stared at the whiteout. My eyes picked out another dark spot about twenty feet away. My lips started to shudder as I hiked toward it.

The wind picked up a notch. Blowing snow struck the ground repeatedly, causing more powder to rise into the air. It whirled around in great circles, striking me from all sides.

What time was it anyway? How long had I been searching for Ayers? Minutes? Hours?

I figured the others were out there with me, blanketing the vast tundra. But I couldn't see them, hear them, or smell them. For all I knew, they'd given up hours ago. Or maybe I'd strayed too far. Maybe they were searching for me now.

A fleeting image of Beverly's face crossed my mind. I was still determined to find her as soon as possible. But I had no reason to think she was in immediate danger. On the other hand, the odds of finding Ayers still alive were falling by the second.

I twisted around. I couldn't see Kirby. But I was reasonably sure I could get myself back to it.

I reached the snow bank and started to search it. I didn't know much about Ayers. I hadn't even heard his voice. Hell, I couldn't even be sure he had a voice. Still, I found myself wondering about him, his life. What would happen if we didn't find him? Would anyone remember him? Would they mourn him? How long would those memories last? Months? Years?

Practically everyone who'd ever lived had already been forgotten. It was a cold, but undeniable truth. There were just too many people to remember, too few memory slots available.

Most individuals succumbed to time, some quicker than others. Within a single generation, the vast majority of people completely vanished from the public consciousness. A few high-profile individuals—politicians, actresses, athletes, people like that—lasted a little longer. But almost all of them faded within a few decades. Only a precious few—the religious icons, the trendsetters, the inventors, the explorers, the conquerors—managed to live on in the collective memory.

My legs began to quiver. I cursed myself for walking so far. I should've stayed closer to Kirby, to the others.

I craned my neck. I saw another dark blotch among the vast expanse of ice and snow. As I hiked toward it, I thought more about Ayers, about how others would remember him. But deep down, I knew I was really thinking about myself.

I had no legacy, no lasting achievements to pass onto future generations. Almost all of my discoveries were locked up in private hands. The others were little known outside of treasure hunting circles. In other words, I was doomed to be forgotten.

But I wanted to be remembered. I needed to be remembered. I wasn't so foolish as to think Cy Reed would ever be a household name. But the Amber Room was one of the greatest lost treasures of all time. Surely, my discovering it would be remembered by future generations of historians, archaeologists, and treasure hunters.

But how long would that fame last? I tried to think of people from the distant past. Jesus of Nazareth obviously lived right after the switch from Before Christ to
Anno Domini
. Alexander the Great was born three hundred and fifty years before that. Socrates preceded Alexander by about a century. And Amenhotep I ruled around 1520 BC, making him one thousand and fifty years older than Socrates.

I thought hard but I couldn't think of a single ancient person who predated Amenhotep. Of course, many fossils predated him. Some of them, like Lucy and Ardi, were millions of years old. But they were just fossils. I knew nothing about their lives. Neither did anyone else. And even they were just blips on the scale of time. Dinosaurs appeared millions of years before them. And who knew what forms of life preceded those creatures? Hell, Earth itself was over four billion years old.

Emptiness spread over me. Life felt meaningless in the vast expanse of time and space. I took no comfort from the realization. I felt no freedom from my worries. Instead, I just felt lost, alone. Empty.

I reached the dark blotch. It was another snow bank. Kneeling down, I studied the powder. It was windblown and lacked moisture. So, it felt extra dense, nothing like the powder at a ski resort.

Coldness crept over my toes. I wiggled them, trying to retain some feeling. Then I started brushing away the snow. Almost immediately, my hands struck something hard.

My nerves tingled. Quickly, I scraped away more snow. A patch of red fabric appeared.

My hands worked like shovels. In less than a minute, I managed to clear away most of the powder. "Ted?"

Ted Ayers' eyes were open. But he lay perfectly still. His skin was pale. His lips looked blue.

I checked his pulse. Then I closed his eyes.

I looked around, trying to spot the power plant. But I couldn't see it. I glanced back at Ayers. My eyes passed over him. I didn't see any wounds from the explosion.

I reached for his parka hood. Gently, I pulled it away from his body.

My gaze fell on a long cut. It ran across his neck. The skin beneath it was stained with blood. My face tightened.

This was no accident.

This was murder.

Chapter 50

"Goddamn, it's good to see you." Graham spun around. His eyes traced my body. "You look even worse than I remember."

The common room smelled like alcohol. Candles and battery-operated lights provided some illumination. Trotter was situated near the door, lying on a couch. Jenner knelt next to him, propping his head up. Baxter held a bottle of rum, which he proceeded to tip toward Trotter's chapped lips.

"Thanks." I nodded at Trotter. "How is he?"

"He's fine, just cuts and scratches."

"How's everyone else?"

"Good. Ted's still missing though."

I sighed. "Not anymore."

"Where is he?"

"I took him to the vehicle shed. Someone cut his throat."

Graham inhaled sharply. "Who?"

"Good question."

Trotter tilted his head toward me. His expression changed from hopeful to depressed. My chest tightened another notch. "Give me a second."

I walked over to Trotter. A big bandage was plastered over his right temple. "How do you feel?"

Trotter's eyes were bleary. "How do I look?"

"You could be worse." I paused. "I found Ted."

Baxter and Jenner turned to look at me.

Trotter's eyes widened. "And?"

I shook my head.

"Are you …?" He swallowed. "Are you sure?"

I nodded.

"Did he … was he …?"

"It looks like he died instantly."

"I want to see him."

"I carried him to the vehicle shed."

Trotter tried to stand up. Then he collapsed back to the couch. His eyes closed over. His breathing slowed and he passed out. Baxter and Jenner quickly went to work making him comfortable.

I grabbed Graham's arm and pulled him into the kitchen area. "You know how this place is supposed to be some kind of eco-miracle?"

"More like eco-fascism. I tell you, I'm sick and—”

"It's a fraud."

His brow furrowed. "Come again?"

"I went inside the power plant to look for Ted. There's a diesel generator hidden under the floorboards."

"Well, I'll be damned." He shook his head. "Can't say I'm surprised though. Green technology doesn't make much sense out here. Think about it. There's no sun for half of the year. Without wind, power vanishes."

"I agree. But this building isn't Fitzgerald. Hell, it's not even close to that size. How difficult can it really be to keep it warm?"

Graham gave me a curious look. "It sounds like you've got something brewing in that head of yours."

I tried to piece the puzzle together without success. "We'll worry about it later. Beverly still needs our help."

"Let me get Pat. He agreed to come with us."

"Okay, meet me in the vehicle shed."

"Will do." He hesitated. "Why would someone want to kill Ted?"

"Maybe he saw something he wasn't supposed to see."

"Like what?"

"Like the bomber."

"The explosion was deliberate?"

"Most likely."

"But why? The bomber needs heat just as much as the rest of us."

"Perhaps. But he or she might need privacy even more." I started ticking off my fingers. "First, the satellite phones stopped working. Then the regular line went dead. Now, the power plant is gone. Since the wires ran through it, I'm guessing that means we won't be able to fix the regular line anytime soon."

"Which means we're isolated, cut off from the rest of the continent." He rubbed his forehead as if he had an ache in it. "I suppose it's possible. But why would someone want to do that?"

"I don't know but we'd better find out fast," I replied. "Before we all end up like Ted."

Chapter 51

Holly held her breath as she climbed down the ladder. Darkness shrouded the room below. It had been covertly hooked up to Kirby's power plant. When the plant went off-line, the hidden basement had lost power as well. But the emergency generator should've kicked in by now. Without it, all hope was lost.

Her right sneaker slipped on a rung. She dropped a few inches. Her left sneaker lost its purchase.

Her fingers tightened around the rusty metal. Her body jolted to a halt. Pain shot through her arms. For a moment, she flailed twenty feet up in the air, trying to regain her footing. But her sneakers kept missing the rungs.

Her hands began to ache. She did her best to maintain her grip. But her fingers could only take so much. Slowly, they uncurled before her eyes. Holly shrieked. Then she plummeted toward the concrete floor.

Ten feet down, an arm wrapped around her waist. It firmed up, strong as a steel cable. She jerked to a stop. She hung there for a few seconds, her legs dangling in mid-air.

Carefully, Rupert adjusted his other arm, wrapping it securely around a rung. "You okay?" he grunted.

Holly couldn't speak.

Rupert twisted his arm. Holly swung close to the ladder. But her arms remained limp at her sides. "Don't worry. I've got you."

With a soft shudder, she reached out her hands. Her fingers closed around a metal bar.

"That's it," he said. "Now, put your feet on that other rung."

She shifted her legs and planted her sneaker firmly on the rung. Then she moved her other foot toward it.

Her right sneaker slipped again. She yelped. Her fingers clutched the bar so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Rupert didn't move a muscle. He continued to support her weight with relative ease. Quickly, she placed her right sneaker back on the rung. She pressed down on it. It didn't slip.